Shedding
If you visited my house, say five days out of ten, you’d notice a fine layer of yellow hair on every horizontal and many of the vertical surfaces. The hair is a result of owning (who owns who?) a yellow labrador retriever named Rooster. Rooster is getting up in years. He’s not as nimble as he used to be. He’s lost most of his hearing in the last couple of years. And, he’s still the same amiable companion he was on his very first day with us. While he doesn’t do all the things he used to do with the same joie de vivre, he is still an absolute champion shedder. It happens twice a year. It doesn’t seem to bother him a bit, though he relishes the raking sessions that produce mountains of hair, in spite of still being able to cover the house.
I know we shed, too. I clean the shower. But Rooster does it with vigor. And there’s something to it. If you’re watching the valley like I am, you’ve noticed the beginning of fall color coming to the aspens and willows, and before too long whatever crab apples the cider makers don’t harvest from the trees on our St. John’s campus will drop to the ground.
While the dog hair drives me bananas, I like the concept—shedding. It happens naturally to the flora and fauna that surrounds us here in Jackson Hole, but I also embrace the idea that we might create a spiritual practice around it. We might use some of our time and heart energy to release some things in our lives that need to be let go. The practice seems not the same as but similar to our summertime work of rewilding our spiritual lives, our church, our hearts, our thoughts. A deliberate practice of shedding.
Now don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m not suggesting you adopt the Konmari Method of organization or that you Swedish death clean your garage or closet. I’m talking about something more soulful. Are there thoughts or patterns of thoughts that are no longer serving you? Let them go. Are there habits that once served you that are no longer useful? Quit them—resign from them. And, then, observe. See what new growth emerges after a natural release of things. The dog sheds. The trees drop their leaves and fruit, and we, too, might make room for the natural course of renewal that comes from being a creature in creation.
What might you drop?
Love,
Jimmy
